quickly got over it.

"No, I'm not crossing; but it came over me that you might be, and
that's why I hurried down--to catch you before you were off."

"Oh, we can't go--more's the pity; but why, if we could," Mrs. Ryves
inquired, "should you wish to prevent it?"

"Because I've something to ask you first, something that may take
some time." He saw now that her embarrassment had really not been
resentful; it had been nervous, tremulous, as the emotion of an
unexpected pleasure might have been. "That's really why I determined
last night, without asking your leave first to pay you this little
visit--that and the intense desire for another bout of horse-play
with Sidney. Oh, I've come to see you," Peter Baron went on, "and I
won't make any secret of the fact that I expect you to resign
yourself gracefully to the trial and give me all your time. The
day's lovely, and I'm ready to declare that the place is as good as
the day. Let me drink deep of these things, drain the cup like a man
who hasn't been out of London for months and months. Let me walk
with you and talk with you and lunch with you--I go back this
afternoon. Give me all your hours in short, so that they may live in
my memory as one of the sweetest occasions of life."

The emission of steam from the French packet made such an uproar that
Baron could breathe his passion into the young woman's ear without
scandalising the spectators; and the charm which little by little it
scattered over his fleeting visit proved indeed to be the collective
influence of the conditions he had put into words. "What is it you
wish to ask me?" Mrs. Ryves demanded, as they stood there together;